


Moments Will Pass too Quickly

by Sucrosesanction



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Bucky cusses like a goddamn soldier, Character Study, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Hand Jobs, Kinda?, Language Switching, M/M, Masturbation, One Night Stands, Period Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self Loathing, Shameless Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sucrosesanction/pseuds/Sucrosesanction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments tend to go by too fast, opportunities tend to go missed between them. And they've waited so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can't Hold Back Forver

**Author's Note:**

> It says a lot about me that my favorite tag on this fic is 'Shameless Smut.' There will be a lot of smut in this fic. I have a lot of interest in Bucky's mental development and break down and rebuilding, so we'll get to all the mental disorders eventually. The first chapter or two will recap a little on the movies, but I don't want to rewrite scenes you already know, so I won't. Also there will eventually probably be graphic violence, as a result of the nature of Bucky's side of the story, but that'll change when we get there.
> 
> This will be updated and written as I have a chance to do it. I work 40+ hours a week making money to pay for everything, so I do this sort of stuff when I have time. But I will try to update this as often as I can.
> 
> Also, I'm so late to the fucking fandom.

The first time Steve's hand brushes against Bucky's skin makes him feel it. They were too young and it's stupid and it's more than just a little frowned upon, but Bucky still felt it. He feels it for years to come, through puberty and adolescence and everything that comes after. Even when Bucky is physically reminding himself of how good he could have it - the women flock to him in droves - he wasn’t feeling it with them. Even sickly and awkward and a little too optimistic, Steve made him feel it. Bucky won't say what 'it' is, won't even think what 'it' is, but he knows. Dreams are too vivid and urges are too strong and everything's all too real. He can't deny it. It simply is.

He settled into a sweet state of friendship. Guys can be friendly so long as they're not too friendly. You can let a touch to a shoulder slip through or a pat on the back linger a little bit with your best bud. Bucky gets it. He's good at playing the game and better at not quite crossing any lines or dropping any hints. There's appearances to think of in the thirties after all. But it never leaves him.

He took care of the other man. Bucky played at roommate and pays more than his share of rent and utilities. He helped Steve get a job - or he tried to - and picked up Steve's asthma meds at the pharmacy. After all Steve is sick and scrawny and they're best buds and Steve's got nobody else who gives a lick about the kid after his momma passed. It's not much effort to help out in these little ways, Bucky swore. Steve insisted that he doesn't need the help, that Bucky should think of himself. He doesn't know how much what little help Bucky gives satisfies him more than any second anywhere else possibly could.

Late at night when Bucky was too tired to stop himself from thinking and too anxious to actually fall asleep, Bucky actually dared to wonder if it's there for Steve too. Then he berates himself for wondering at all. But it whispers to him that he should stop worrying so much and maybe give something a try? But... There are just too many damn buts for anything to be tried.

The sensations become too much, too often. Bucky worried his control was slipping, that Steve may notice something. He secretly hoped against hopes that Steve will notice something. Instead of letting anything burst though, he refocused his free time. He doubles his time out dancing with women. He doubles the efforts to take them into his bed. He doesn't even have to try with them - after all Bucky likes them well enough, they just don't have it in quite the same way. But he doesn't think about that when he's with them. When he's with them he's doing everything in his power to not think of it. Bucky was doing his damnedest to not let it all become too much, because he's worried that when it does become too much, he may well lose his mind and do something incredibly stupid.

And then the moment passed. All the potential moments that could have been pass. War hits. Bucky breaths a sigh of relief when he’s drafted. He hadn't exactly been hoping to be drafted, but he thinks maybe this way he'll be able to forget about it. He thought that maybe he could drown in some cute nurse far away from Steve and their backstory. He thought that maybe it was a good way to convince himself he's as honorable as everyone else seems to think him. They don't know about all his thoughts and his heart's dirty little secret.

Steve tried to follow him into the service, all honor and loyalty and big words from a frail example of a fella, Bucky was supportive. Bucky even trained with him, under the pretense of giving the kid a boost. But he takes an even deeper secret comfort in the knowledge that he won't have to worry about Steve in the army. He'd never get accepted. Still, Bucky knows that Steve would be a damn good soldier if he had the body for it. The mind's already there, and Steve would make an example out of every other damn soldier in the field. But it was just too bad his body couldn't keep up with his mind.

Bucky was shipped out before he could ever see his friend get juiced up by some super soldier serum. Bucky was gone before he could even catch a whisper that his best friend actually found a way to follow him. And for that short while Bucky, in his ignorance among the 107th, almost thought he could do it. Bucky could maybe just let it go after all.

The sensation doesn't last. It doesn't help when Bucky started seeing Steve before every movie picture show he took a lady out too. It doesn't help when every commercial break in the radio featured his best friend's voice. It's back with a vengeance and Bucky knows it was only a matter of time before Steve gets out of the damned dancing tours and finds himself a real mission. It's only a matter of time before Steve finds himself back beside Bucky. And it ached thinking about it, but it ached in that good way that tells Bucky he should stop moping so goddamn much about it. Sulking had never suited Buck anyway.

So he let himself look forward to the reunion, if only a little bit. He marched with his unit, he did his missions, and he hit his marks. But in his secret space - in the space he held Steve and ‘it’ - Buck looked forward to seeing his old compatriot. Even if Steve was never supposed to be a damn soldier.

Bucky hadn't expected the reunion to be a rescue. He hadn't expected Steve to look quite so large. “I thought you were smaller,” he had said lamely. But everybody all knows that part of the story. HYDRA experimenting and torturing, and Steve taking Bucky back to camp. Bucky wincing under the the Doc’s watchful eye, Steve being his best pal as usual. Bucky taking comfort in Steve calling him a punk when Buck tries to put on his best brave face. Buck relaxing only after all the tests cease, at least for a time, and he’s released for duty again.

To be honest, it didn't take all that long, and it looked like Steve’s pushed some buttons or maybe pulled some strings to get things rearranged. Now they’re a part of the same unit, the same special ops team, and they’re together all the time and it’s hard all over again to ignore the whole feel of it again.

There had been once. One time after the rescue - not that first night, probably because Steve had been too busy worrying about him for it to seem like a good time - but after one of the missions that they had aced as a squad. The whole of the Howling Commandos had gone out to one of the dancing halls, gotten roaring drunk, danced their asses off, and laughed at everything and anything. Eventually though all of them had stumbled out of the hall to their own entertainment in private, some of them with the women they had been dancing with, and all that was left of the Commandos were Steve and Bucky laughing at old memories at the bar. Buck had danced with multiple partners, but excused himself every time, at the cost of their sore looks, but Bucky didn’t give half of a damn. He had catching up to do.

Six and a half beers in, Sergeant Barnes was definitely feeling it a bit in his knees. He was still jovial though, and so was Steve, but by the end of seventh beer Captain Rogers had apparently decided Bucky had enough. And Steve was escorting Buck back to his quarters. It’s like old times, Steve and Bucky talking too loudly and stumbling back to their place in the Bronx, except they’re not in New York City anymore, but the feeling is still there.

Steve’s lucky. Captain America’s got quarters all his own, and that’s where he took Bucky. For a second Bucky thought that everything was just the same and he’d be crashing in Rogers’ space. They’d wake up in the morning, laugh at his hangover, call each other idiots and punks and a litany of other insults, and go on with their lives. That moment though lasts less than a millisecond. Because Steve had stopped supporting Bucky, and he’d flopped on the Captain’s bed. He had planned to move to the floor in a few seconds - after the world stopped spinning - but then Steve was flopping beside him. The laughter faded slowly, and their breathing slowed, and then… it had happened so suddenly.

It had been a break in Buck’s resolve - or maybe it had been Steve’s resolve that broke? He couldn't quite figure out who kissed who first, these were moments so fast and blurry that Bucky was surprised that he remembered any of it at all.

Somehow their jackets had ended up on the floor and the lips on his were firm and soft, determined and hesitant, heated and precise to the point of coolness all at once. Bucky tasted the whiskey on the other's tongue, knew Steve would be tasting the beer on his. Behind the mixture of alcohol though, Bucky tasted a sharp sweet mixture of mirth and mint that must be Steve. He committed the taste to memory because some part of Bucky was sober enough to recognize that they - _he_ \- may never get another opportunity to reacquaint himself with the flavor of Steve. The all American Patriot should have an all American relationship, an all American life with an all American wife and kids. That's what the sober part of James Buchanan Barnes thinks.

Then there's also the drunk part of Bucky, just Bucky, who moans quietly into their kisses and is composed of all lust and want and sweet, sweet relief. Steve's hips were rolling against his - more instinct than anything else - and Buck can't stop himself from responding. Not that he wanted to stop himself. Part of the drunk part of Bucky had just assumed this was another one of Buck's secret fantasies, because he'd always dreamed of this sort of thing with Steve, even when it was skinny Steve.

And then Steve was pulling back and Bucky knows it's real because in his dreams Steve never pulls back. He wasn't ready for the moment to pass. Not yet. Not when their shirts had just barely gotten untucked and Bucky's hands were finally brave enough to wander the expanses of Steve's back. He's not drunk enough to whine for it though. Bucky Barnes doesn't fucking whine for jack.

"You alright?" The slur of a Brooklyn boy, low and husky, bleeding through Captain America's normal authoritative and suspiciously nondescript voice. That was Steve alright, just like Bucky remembered him.

Bucky, oh so drunk and horny Bucky, laughed, "Less talking, more handsy shit." It sounded a hell of a lot more demanding than Bucky had imagined it, but shit, he could blame it all on the booze later.

Steve, however, seemed hesitant to comply, "All those dames though Buck--"

Steve found himself shut off by lips pressed harshly against his, and the sudden much more urgent rub of hips against hips. If there was one thing Bucky really _didn't_ want to talk about right then, it was all the damn dames he'd shut down that night and why he'd shut them down. But despite the sudden tension Buck could feel coming off the other man, he could also feel Steve's erection throbbing against his, and it was ecstasy on high. Bucky didn't give a shit about any fucking dames right then, not in the slightest. "Not here," Bucky vocalized against the other man's lips, his voice sounding maybe a little too wrecked. Fuck it, just another thing to blame on the booze later. The words seem to do the trick, and Steve instantly relaxed into the mutual need floating heavy between their bodies.

Bucky let out a string of curses while he readjusted beneath Steve, his erection straining against his pants and his belt suddenly felt like a goddamn Eldridge knot around his waist and his fingers were fumbling. Then Steve was there, chuckling of all things, helping him out of the complex contraption that was his belt and stroking the brunette hard and fast. Bucky groaned into Steve's neck, knuckle white grip threatening to tear through the other man's undershirt. He made quiet noises, not just for the pleasure he was feeling, but for the fact that Stevie - his fucking _Stevie_ \- was the one leading these actions. Bucky took comfort in it, the sober part of his mind becoming a little less uncomfortable, and slightly less quick to judge.

He felt his pleasure building between Steve's hand on his cock and his sloppy, wanton kisses. He felt a little bit like one of those dames he's taken back to his bed previously, usually he's the one pulling orgasms from partners with fingers and hands. Bucky can't bring himself to mind though, and he knew he was getting close to that point of no return. At least it wasn't gonna be a night with fucking whiskey dick.

"Fuck, Stevie," Buck hissed out when the moment finally hits, his teeth finding Steve's lower lip and grazing across it, a bit harder than he had intended. The groan he pulled from Steve was well worth the metallic tang of blood he tasted on his tongue, and Bucky knew he would be lapping over the wound without even thinking about it moments later. He came hard over the fabric of his shirt, his breath coming out ragged and harsh and too hot in the moment. His pupils blown from pleasure and toes curling in his boots. Suddenly Buck felt as though there was just too much damn clothing on them, the sweat on his back sticking his shirt to his skin.

Bucky managed to flip them so Steve's beneath him, with a little help from his combat knowledge. His shirt slipped easily over his neck and Bucky cleaned the cum off Steve's fingers with it before tossing it aside. The awestruck expression on Steve's face made Bucky grin like a loon, all confidence now. He pushed Steve back and more solidly on the bed - Steve didn't resist, just watched while Bucky stood back and kicked off his boots and shucked the rest of his clothes over by the jackets.

He did the same with Steve's, and now that his cock isn't aching so bad Buck's showing a lot more control over his fingers. He knew he was grinning too much, but couldn't seem to stop, especially considering the fact that he was finally getting to see Steve's muscled legs and chest and arms and every inch of skin in between. He had thought about saying something appreciative, but settled to just sighing before kissing Steve full and hungry again. If it weren't for the fact that Steve's a goddamn super soldier his lips would be bruised something fierce in the morning from how hard they'd been kissed.

Bucky let his hands explore Steve freely, committing as much of the map of his skin to memory. He was slow and curious, but steady despite the fact that he could still taste beer in his mouth. He knew Steve was liking it too, because he could feel precum dripping against his leg, were the other man's cock was twitching of it's own volition, begging to be touched. Bucky grinned and teased his hand over the hard length, because he'd never been able to turn Steve down and now was certainly no exception.

He abandoned Steve's lips to kiss and bite a myriad of marks down his chest and shoulders and abs, watching bruises that wouldn't last bloom while his hand lazily fondled the other man. He didn't have the same urgency as Steve had, and Steve was getting impatient he could tell. "Where-" the blond panted out, "What-" Bucky felt Steve's hands curling and uncurling on his back, and he liked knowing the effect he was having.

"M'getting to know the lay of the land," Bucky answered, "Shut it and enjoy." And though Steve did cease his talking, he didn't stop straining his hips for more contact there. Bucky obliged, slowly, still not enough friction to do much more than tease while his lips forged patterns over Steve's hard skin and his tongue tasted the salt of Steve's sweat. Finally his mouth seemed to reach an accord, hovering over the blonde's cock. He watched for a response from the other, but only saw pleasure in Steve's face.

He took it as a good sign and sunk Steve's cock into his mouth, tongue teasing over the head. Bucky groaned against Steve's cock, sending shocks of vibration through the other man, but he couldn't stop himself. Who knew Steve would taste so fucking good? His hands braced themselves against Steve's hips, forcing his control over the eager things. He started slow, just stroking lazy tongue ministrations over the vein and head of his cock, really making Steve strain before he started sucking in earnest. But Bucky was getting impatient too and he couldn't keep himself at that lazy pace for long.

His eyes flicked up at Steve's face more than once, found Steve's hungry blue eyes meeting his on every occasion, and he doubled his pace. The suddenness of it pulled a silent shout from Steve, the cry caught in his throat and Buck could tell he was getting the other man close. He swallowed down, ignored his gag reflex, and took that cock all the way in his mouth until his lips were flush with the skin around Steve's base. That did it for Steve apparently - doubtless combined with all the waiting Buck had forced him through. Bucky could feel the hot stream of cum hit the back of his throat that came accompanied with strong fingers digging into his scalp. He swallowed greedily, some part of him in the back of his head amused at how eager he was. Bucky never would have pegged himself got a swallower. Then again, that was before he had known how _amazing_ Steve tasted.

Bucky only came up for air when Steve had softened in his mouth, though it wasn't as though he'd had a choice in the matter. Steve's hands had kept him in place through his aftershocks, and Bucky had seen no reason to fight them. He nipped his way back up Steve's chest, noticing how already some of the marks he'd left were fading. He found Steve panting and blissed when he was eye level with the blonde again.

"You wanna...?" Steve started, didn't have to finish for Bucky to know that the question ended with 'talk about it.'

"Think m'good," Bucky answered, “Tired now.” He played up the booze a little bit, forcing himself to feel sleepy when in fact his every nerve was at attention.

"Later then," Steve said decisively, pulling Bucky closer to him before falling asleep easily. Bucky wasn’t really sure how to feel about being cuddled by Steve, on account of how sensitive his every particle of skin seemed to be, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. He just didn’t want to sleep really when it could all end any minute. He’d rather stay up and adore the form in front of him, around him. He’d rather appreciate and marvel at the strength of the other man and the sharp contrast to the gentleness he’s experiencing with Steve. He’d rather never let the sun rise, if it meant not having to go out and face tomorrow for all the danger it might bring.

  
Needless to say, it took Bucky a good while longer to relax enough to sleep, but when he did it was the best damn sleep he'd gotten in ages. 


	2. The Fall and the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between his tasks Bucky thinks, and between sleeps the Asset learns to become deadlier. The two would really be better off if they just talked once in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter catches us up with the series, and has an unfortunate lack of both smut and dialogue. However, it had to be done to move on with the plots.

Waking up had not been easy, but Bucky still managed it before the camp’s wake up call had sounded. It had still been dark outside, but Bucky supposed he was still too worked up from the night before to stay asleep much longer. Steve let a groan out when Bucky made to get out of the bed, but he didn't stir beyond that. He quietly dressed, pulling on pants, tucking the hems into his combat boots, and shucking his jacket over his bare shoulders. He left his shirt squished between Steve’s bed and the wall. Where it was, Bucky would definitely have disturbed Steve from sleep if he tried to retrieve it, and If Steve could sleep more Bucky wouldn't be the one to wake him. The man deserved a little rest.

He had thought about saying something, ‘Later Steve,’ or maybe just touching him a little more before he left - his fingertips were addicted after just one night - but it all fell short. At the same time, Bucky didn't want to really leave any of himself there to be found - shirt being the exception. It was generic enough to maybe be one of Steve’s if anyone else noticed it out of place.

Of course, Bucky had known that Steve would remember that it was Bucky’s, no way he wouldn't. Bucky had been the drunk one, and Steve’s new metabolism didn't really allow for anything more than a light buzz, no matter how heavily he was drinking. The sniper wasn't really sure whether he liked that Steve had been fully aware the night before, or if he dreaded it.

No matter Bucky’s feelings on the matter, he had been fraternizing with his direct superior and if that first bit didn't look so good, then the second part - the part where both of them were male as the day is long and as winter is cold - well that would look even worse. Better not to let Captain America catch any slack. So Bucky slipped out under the quiet darkness of early morning, and the door closed without even a click. The chilly morning air made Bucky shiver for a moment, but it wasn't a long walk back to his quarters, where the rest of the Howling Commandos bunked with him. They aren't all there. Some of them, doubtless, were still out with the women from the dance hall last night.

Dum Dum was there though, and he took a moment to give Buck a bit of a heckle about his lack of a shirt, “Left your girl with a souvenir then?”

Buck just gave a snort at that and shrugged it off, “Sometimes ya gotta give a lady what she wants. And she wouldn't let go of the shirt.” He played it off like it was nothing, like it wasn't in Steve’s room next to his sleeping form, like he hadn't really wanted to be there too.

Dum Dum said something else after that, but Bucky barely heard it, he had been in more of a mood to deal with his teeth. His breath rank of stale beer and sleep and the remnants of cum. He waved his acknowledgement at the other man without stopping in his trek to the bathroom and his toothbrush.

Steve and Bucky had never gotten the chance to talk about it. With too many people around, neither of them proved willing to brave the subject, so they let it go. Bucky figured if Steve wanted to talk about it at all, then it'd be up to Steve when to breach the subject.

As it was a new day meant a new target, and the Commandos never did get much rest. There had been intel on a train carrying a scientist - not just any scientist, but Dr. Zola himself. And Bucky would be crazy to deny that he begrudged the man just a little for experimenting on him - for keeping him out of the fight for so long. Hell yes, he had been fucking eager to get the man into custody.

So they head out that day, and they get the the drop spot on time, a day and a half later. Everything seemed to be going fine, sure Bucky had been stuck in a car separate from Steve and shooting for his life against some guy with a gun that’s made out of god knows what - but Bucky had it under control. Buck always has it under control.

But then it’s not under control anymore. Then it was all going to hell and a hand basket and Bucky was clinging for his life on an icy, slippery rail and reaching for Steve’s hand. There was a face in his memory, Steve Rogers reaching after him, and a sound that accompanies it, a scream that must have ripped itself from his own throat. Then Bucky was falling, straight down to the icy grips of Hell in the middle of nowhere. Everything goes black before Bucky even hits the ground.

Things got shaky for Bucky from then on out. Days went by without him knowing it. He woke under the knife, one arm less, and then everything went black again. He woke again, with a replacement limb. It was heavy and it stung and it responded slowly, though maybe that had been his mind still too groggy to do anything quite right, but it had been strong enough to throw a man across the room before they could put him under again.

When he woke next, Bucky's metal and flesh arms were bound to each other, his calves strapped to the legs of a cold, metal table. He was already muttering his rank, name and squad, but Bucky registered that it might be a good thing to force himself to keep remembering who he is. He did not stop his talking even when the man in the lab coat with the brief case of torture tools enters. Some part of him had recognized that this is not the first time they have been through this, even though Bucky could not recall what had happened the last time.

"You will be our weapon," the man in the coat had said, as though he was repeating himself for the hundredth time already today, "You will be our perfect soldier. It is my job to forge you into the appropriate shape."

Bucky spit at the feet of his torturer - maybe that wasn't the right word? - and strained against his restraints even as his heart thumped louder against his chest.

"Is that anyway to treat your superior?" The man says, and accompanies the words with the first crack of the strap across his back. The man circles him, cracks the leather across his skin again, and again, and

Bucky knows he's bleeding. Bucky didn't bother to listen to the words the man was berating him with, instead he retreated into the recesses of him own mind until he could tune out even the pain.  
His rank, name, and squad are repeated louder here, and Bucky recalls faces to reinforce his memories. He knew at the surface level they were trying to reshape him, that they think pain alone will break him. Bucky is determined to prove them wrong. Bucky stays in his own mind until his body passes out from the exertion of being beaten to a bloody pulp.

They labeled the day a success - Sergeant Barnes hardly even strained against his binds that day. And he hardly spoke at all. That is progress, Zola's scientists reported happily to their superiors. Their superiors were not satisfied though, and they were eager to see if a more scientific approach was any closer to being ready.

His eyes opened again to see himself in a chair that was ten times more terrifying than any dentist seat he’d ever been to, with the added bonus of limited mobility. His arms were bound to where arm rests should have been and even all the strength in his new appendage couldn't snap through the leather of the straps.

His brows knit themselves together and he grunted his dissatisfaction, but he found that he couldn't do more than that with the gag in his mouth. He wasn't sure if it was meant to keep him from vocalizing, or for him to bite down on. Although, Bucky quipped mentally, this would be a good way to take care of two birds with one stone. As the phrase goes.

He almost chuckled in that moment, but then terror gripped him again as the chair re-positioned itself and Bucky felt something clamping itself over his face while his limbs stretched to what Bucky had thought must have been their capacity. And then he was screaming, teeth digging into the strap as shocks went through his system, re-configuring synapses and tearing through old memories as they were nothing more than paper. The screams that ripped themselves from his throat only stopped when Bucky needed to intake fresh air. The agony was unbearable. Bucky retreated.

“You will be our Asset. You will shape the century. You will be our weapon and our soldier.” The words sounded so far off, and though he could vaguely feel that his body was responding, it wasn't Bucky at the helm anymore.

Bucky supposed that this had been Winter’s birthday... but Winter wasn't one for the sentimentalities associated with things like birthdays or names.

Bucky was vaguely aware of the needles pricking his skin, his submission as they inject him with a "more refined serum" than the one they had used the first time they had captured him. He was vaguely aware of the fires pulsing through his veins and the grit of his teeth against the strap, which was becoming fast familiar. Bucky was vaguely aware of Winter becoming more and more adept at killing in vastly more interesting ways. He was vaguely aware of Zola's voice, which had become uncomfortably familiar, giving him orders. But there was little more to Bucky than that vague awareness.

Winter drives them through the physical training that follows. Winter did the every request of HYDRA and acquiesced without so much as a second word. Winter was what they want out of his body and responds to the handlers perfectly, while Bucky retreated further. Another part of Bucky's mind told him that it was okay to rest now, to let Winter handle the cold torture and colder jobs, and Bucky listened.  
For a long time Bucky listened to the smaller voice - not Winter's gruff unused voice or his own overly talkative Brooklyn voice, but a third that's caught somewhere between the two. The only snag in the arrangement seems to be that Winter doesn't sleep. Doesn't dream. When the Asset's body is under, Bucky dreamed of all the things he doesn't remember doing, all the lives he ended prematurely. He swam through a fog of insecurity and annoyance at his lack of control over each situation. He tried to crawl out of sleep and towards the relief that he had known wakefulness would bring, but chryosleep kept him tight in it's grasp.

When they had dragged him out of it at long last, Winter was the one who rose faster, alert and ready for his next command. No matter that commands seem to come from different sources with each waking - Winter just blindly obeyed. Bucky watched the carnage that Winter has brought to the world he used to inhabit, and saw the way it evolves around him. He was aware of the way he affected the Cold War and much later than that how he had a direct hand in the war on "terrorism." New modes of travel appear, and he mastered each. New technologies come to surface, and he mastered each of them. New world leaders come into play and he learned each of their languages before taking the hit out on them.

He really can’t do more than watch - how they use him disagrees with him too much - and trying to interfere would just end in misfortune. Though they had begin to trust Winter, who doesn't talk back or talk much at all, and allowed him to go unmonitored on tasks. After the task was done, or sometimes a day before, Bucky was allowed mere moments to be in charge of himself in hotel bathrooms or HYDRA stashes when they are completely alone. When Winter comes back, it’s calculated status reports and then back into the cold. That’s the thing about Winter, he always comes back.

It’s not that Winter enjoyed the work, though he does it so effectively. Winter was borne out of a need to protect Bucky, and the only way Winter knew how to do so was to push him back and follow the orders he was given to a tee. It seemed as though Winter’s entire motivation was self-preservation. And to be fair, the only way that Bucky gets taken care of is by following orders.

Hundreds of tasks go by, and so too do the years, blending together easily through the gift of chryosleep. Decades bleed into each other and Bucky took little notice. Then there was yet another handler, or task giver, a sleazy old white man who told him that the Asset has been a great help to his cause. He tells the Asset to kill a man and a woman. He shows him the marks faces - pictures of them as they were - and something tugged at Bucky then, but he had been buried so deep.

It wasn't until the bridge that Bucky had woken up and dragged himself out of the depths of his mind in time to hear Winter exclaim. Bucky had been the cause of hesitation, of the botched moment when the Falcon had kicked him aside. Winter was furious with him, wouldn't listen when Bucky yells at him, "I know that man! We can't kill him!"

Winter was obstinate until Bucky lets him see the friendship, laid out like a map of Bucky's life, evidenced in memories too vivid to be imagined. "I'm Bucky, that's me." He had said the words with such care - softly and soothingly. He knew that Winter didn't know them as anything but the Asset or American or Winter Soldier or any of their other expletives - so he had taken the time to be careful in his explanation. Winter has never known his own name.

The conversation between them does not stop Winter from returning to his handlers, nor does it help his behavior. When Winter flashed back it was nothing but agony and the torture Zola gave him. There are the traces of misery and loneliness that come with the flashbacks, of course, and then they are shoving him back into the mind washing structure. They ignore Winter’s claims, “But I knew him!” Desperate for someone to hear his words.

And then the Asset and Steve had fought again - diving straight into what Buck had hoped to avoid. Winter had been renewed in his determination to complete the mission, but his resolve had weakened just when he was gaining an advantage over the other super soldier. It hadn't been long until after that when Winter had blacked out entirely and it was mere moments later when Bucky had been in control enough to diver after Steve, to make the coherent decision to pull his best friend out of the Potomac and to the shore.

Steve was fine, Bucky had been sure, but he couldn't stay to find out. He didn't know when Winter would be back, or when HYDRA would come calling for him. That had not changed that Bucky had wanted to stay, but he couldn't afford to stay when there were still so many unknowns to explore. And he was determined to explore all of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is getting a re-write from chapter 2 onward, so for now it will be marked as complete. I need to work on consistency in tone and giving my guys an end goal, so when it these things come to flourish, we'll come back to this. For now, I'm really only happy with the first two chapters.


End file.
